


Gliding On A Broken Wing

by TNKT



Series: TNKT's AUs for Detroit: Become Human [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Competition, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 Friendship, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Grief/Mourning, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Injury, Injury Recovery, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nightmares, Poor Connor, RK Brothers, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Supportive Hank Anderson, Traumatized Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNKT/pseuds/TNKT
Summary: He knew what this meant. It was over, he'd lost. It was the most important competition he'd participated in to date and his routine had been perfect until the moment the toe pick of his blade had caught in the ice. He could see the golden opportunity he'd been gliding towards slowly dimming, he could feel it slipping away between his black gloved fingers as he laid injured on the ice.Flying with the stars. He'd wanted to do that. But he had a broken wing and couldn't fly anymore.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/Angst, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Original Chloe | RT600 & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Angst
Series: TNKT's AUs for Detroit: Become Human [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036425
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	1. Casualty

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know about figure skating all that much so please tell me if you find any discrepancies!

A hush had descended upon the audience seated in the wide skating rink. All that Connor could hear beyond the roaring in his ears were his own harsh, shuddering pants that came out in short bursts of mist floating across the ice. The cold permeated his dark shimmering outfit where he laid curled up on his side, teeth gritted from the pain that burned and crushed his right knee. He could see lights shining around him, blurred by the tears that gathered numbly along his lashes. 

Sounds of pain and denial clawed their way out of his throat and he couldn't stop, it hurt, it hurt so bad. "Ahhh! Nh- ah, hh, ah!"

He'd tried to move, he'd tried to get up, he had to keep going, had to, _had to_ , but his body had shrieked at him to stay down and he'd collapsed back to the ice with a shout. The accident had gone fast but he'd seen it happen in slow motion, the brutal tug at his blade, the ice coming up to meet him, no time to do anything but to catch himself on his bent arm. His left wrist and elbow hurt too but it was nothing in the face of the agony in his knee. He heard the soft clacking and slicing sounds of someone skating closer, a presence next to him, an urgent voice above him.

"Can you stand?"

"I tried," Connor managed through everything, "I can't, right knee, ah, ngh- my arm hurts too, my wrist, _shit!_ It hurts!" He cursed ragingly, painfully, because there was nothing else he could do.

Then it was a rush of sounds and colors that he followed from afar. He knew what this meant. It was over, he'd lost. It was the most important competition he'd participated in to date and his routine had been perfect until the moment the toe pick of his blade had caught in the ice. He could see the golden opportunity he'd been gliding towards slowly dimming, he could feel it slipping away between his black gloved fingers as he laid injured on the ice. 

They carried him away and he saw faces and screens. He recognized himself on the wide monitor above head, brown hair whipped out of shape by the wind despite the gel, locks falling around his pale face, pain furrowing his thin brows, sharp jaw clenched to better bear the weight of the misfortune that was befalling him. He didn't want to see his own brown eyes staring up in fear, didn't want to see his own lean body curled up protectively around his injured limbs, so he looked down to the crowd. He saw competitors and spectators gazing on in morbid fascination, compassion, contentement, pity, but mostly he saw his coach and his brother both grief-stricken and horrified. One hid it better than the other and Connor closed his eyes so that he wouldn't see it at all. 

Flying with the stars. He'd wanted to do that. But he had a broken wing and couldn't fly anymore.

* * *

Connor and Richard Stern had always had the same classes, the same talent, the same coaches. Their mother had paid for the expensive lessons and allowed them the time to train for their passion on the condition of their excellence. It was said they had a gift when it came to donning blades and sliding out on frigid smooth surfaces. Both brothers loved dancing across the ice and both of them loved the thrill of competition. They'd competed against each other and had always managed to one-up each other, the number of victories between them always divided in nearly equal halves and only ever separated by one.

They were called beautiful in their jumps and dives that seemed effortless, magnificent figure skating outfits spanning out in flowing tails, their arms stretched out in graceful wings. It was finally Coach Hank Anderson who'd caught wind of them in time to prevent the industry and Amanda Stern from ruining their wild gift with stress and too high expectations, who'd spurred them all the while ensuring that they kept tending to the warm joyful flame that animated their love for the art of ice skating, and who'd believed in them without fail. He'd helped them rise to the top and they'd floated there, for a while.

Until that championship. The championship that was to set the two brothers apart for good, one that would play a huge role in the winner's career.

* * *

Hank stood with his arms crossed and a presence that took up half the hospital room. His blue eyes were overshadowed by a strong set of brows and every feature of his face- the scruffy beard, the wayward hair, the frown and lines etched at the corners of his mouth and nose- all of it showcased a roughness which Connor knew to hide genuine care and empathy. He knew that. He didn't want to see it so he looked away.

"They investigated the ice," Hank gruffly told him. "The issue was there, a gouge that was missed. It wasn't your fault, Connor."

Connor squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to steady himself through the whirlwind of gratefulness and grief that tore through him. He'd known the tug at his blade had been unnatural, that this was due to something that had been out of his control, but it helped to hear someone else tell him that it wasn't because of him. It hurt, also, to confirm that he'd just been a victim of circumstance; that he hadn't been able to control the cause of his fall just like he couldn't control any of its consequences.

Eventually he murmured: "Who won?"

There was no pause, no heavy beat of silence. Just a simple admission. "Nines."

Connor smiled. His lips trembled. Relief and jealousy warred inside of him and threatened to tear him apart.

"He did good," said Hank.

"... Not better than me."

"Not better than you."

Connor felt his brows furrow and he could feel the tears coming on again. "It's not fair. I was supposed to win." He heard himself and winced at the whine in his voice. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was being ridiculous and he hated that he couldn't take this loss with even the slightest touch of grace, but it was too difficult and he couldn't stop the wave of self-pity that had engulfed him either.

"Connor..." The bed dipped under a heavy weight and Hank lowered his big, warm hand on his student's shoulder. "This kind of shit happens. I'm sorry it happened to you. I know it's hard."

Connor sniffled and wiped the tears away with his good hand. They both stayed silent for a while.

"Is he okay?" asked Connor.

"Well, he won, so you know. That's good." Connor's head rolled to the side so he could look up at Hank's face. Hank stared back just as gravely and admitted: "He's not doing too hot."

Connor didn't know what to say to that even though he'd been the one to ask. He knew that Nines had figured out from the moment Connor had executed the first half of his routine that it was better. Connor couldn't have tolerated it if he'd won by default, even less if he'd taken Nines' position as champion this way. It would have killed Connor to reap all the glory knowing it was glory that he hadn't earned and didn't deserve. Part of him ached for the way his younger brother must have felt; the other howled and wailed with anguish over what Connor had lost. Connor couldn't face Nines when he felt this way, he didn't think he'd have the strength to talk to his brother directly. He knew the betrayal he felt was unjust for Nines but it sat there heavy on his chest all the same.

"You need to recover. And I better not hear about you escaping this room so you can go ice skate in an empty rink with a torn knee, got it?" Hank said in a poor attempt at a joke. It landed right for Connor, because he knew that this type of situation belonged to his coach's realm of possibilities after all the unreasonable things Connor had done in the past.

He faintly smiled. "Got it."

The doctors told him he was going to have to be scheduled for surgery if he wanted to keep skating professionally, so he was discharged with a prescription for painkillers and a knee brace and asked to return when the swelling had gone down. Instead of sending him home to his mother, Hank decided that it would be better for Connor to stay over at his house. His coach gave many excuses but the main reason that came out was ultimately: "Your mom's a bitch, Connor, and I'm not sending you back there when you can't even walk on your own."

Connor hadn't appreciated hearing his mother get insulted and he'd tried to argue against this choice which he found misguided, to no avail. Amanda herself had called to reprimand the both of them for even attempting to take this decision at all, and to tell them that to have done it without her reached heights of disrespect she'd _never_ had to deal with before. But Hank was the best coach she could've ever dreamed to find for her sons' success and Hank was having none of it. If anything, Amanda's latest call proved his point when he found Connor huddled up on the couch in the middle of the night, his bad leg forced to stay stretched out, crying from all the cuts that littered his bruised ego after the conversation he'd had with her on the phone over his failure and all the ones that had come before that.

Hank stood there and sighed, the dim glow of Connor's phone shining in the otherwise dark living room. "What'd she tell you, son?" 

He spoke the last word rarely, only ever using that well-intentioned familiarity to bring Connor back to him, and this time it was to show him that he wasn't as alone as Amanda wanted him to think.

Connor wanted to hide in his hands and disappear. Instead he kept his face up and said in a wobbling voice: "I didn't try hard enough."

"Yeah, okay. I figured she'd tell you the same old bullshit." Hank made his way closer to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg, and didn't hesitate to grab him by the shoulder and pull him in a warm embrace. Connor let more of his tears trickle down his cheeks and spread into the fabric of Hank's worn T-shirt. It felt like crying was all he did lately. Hank said in a low voice: "You don't need that shit right now when you lost an important competition and already feel like it's the end of the world. You got unlucky and that's all it is. Don't listen to her, Connor."

Connor's chest heaved on a quiet sob and he reached up around Hank's back to bunch his fists into the soft fabric. "But it's hard, Hank. What if she's right? If I'd looked, if I'd been careful-"

"You're not supposed to be watching out for every damn square inch of the ice. She's wrong, Connor, okay? Never skated a day of her goddamn life, she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about."

Connor was already so tired, he didn't have the strength to argue. He just hung onto his coach's big frame and tried not to fall apart, not yet, not because of his mother's words. 

It wasn't easy for Connor to have to retreat from the big scene, it was even worse knowing that there was a chance he just wouldn't return. He spent the days praying that his knee wasn't too damaged and that they'd be able to repair it, and when he wasn't praying, he lost himself in some sort of sad torpor wondering if there even was a point. He could have contacted Nines but he didn't. Connor didn't feel ready to initiate a conversation with his brother and have to acknowledge that this really was it, that Nines was becoming a star in his stead while he unfairly remained grounded. It had never been a problem for Connor to imagine a situation where he watched Nines fly high above his head because in those scenarios, he was just waiting to follow. In those scenarios, he was proud of his baby brother for being the first to open his wings.

The manner in which it had ended up happening had tainted the happiness Connor had thought he'd experience. 

He saw glimpses of the news while watching TV. He was alone in the living room when he learned that his brother had been taken under the wing of the world-famous coach Elijah Kamski and that it meant he was gone from the city. Connor stared at the screen for several minutes, shell-shocked, before automatically turning off the broadcast. The remote slipped from his numb fingers and landed in his lap. Hank called him minutes later but Connor didn't pick up. Instead, he tried calling Nines. The call went straight to a voice message telling him his brother's phone was unreachable. Frantic, Connor called his mother next to get explanations; but Amanda just sounded displeased that he'd disturbed her for this. She'd known. She'd known that Nines was leaving but she hadn't told Connor because she'd decided it was of no concern to him what his younger, more successful brother was up to. 

When Hank came back as soon as he could, he found Connor sitting in the same spot staring blankly at the black TV screen, phone held limply in his hand. Nines hadn't called. Hank tried to talk with Connor but Connor didn't want to talk about anything at all. They spent that evening in silence. 

Connor's knee remained swollen for days on end, days which he spent unable to do much else but sink in his misery. He felt useless, worthless, powerless. All he did was sit around and pet his coach's big Saint-Bernard because Sumo was always thrilled to get some of his attention. Connor had completely stopped watching TV after the last broadcast. He also hadn't tried to call Nines again and his brother remained radio silent.

Amanda still called sometimes. Hank told him to ignore her but Connor couldn't ignore his mother, and he called her back whenever his coach wasn't around to see or listen, even though Hank always figured it out afterwards. Nines didn't call. 

Connor was terrified that the surgery would go wrong and that he'd never have the use of his knee ever again. Even if it did succeed, the recovery process would be long and intense and all he could really do was hope that his body healed faster than average so that he'd be able get back to training as soon as possible. Ice skating was his entire life and there was nothing else he knew to love. Connor wasn't sure he'd be able to take it if it disappeared. What would it entail for him and Nines?

Hank dragged him to the sports psychiatrist and tried, he tried so very hard to distract Connor by watching series he liked and cooking and playing together, but Connor fell deeper and deeper into depression depite his coach's best efforts to hold his head above the water. They said it was an easier occurrence for people who had a history of mental health issues, so maybe that was why it happened so fast for him. It didn't help that Amanda still refused to understand that he couldn't help these things, and that he wasn't just letting this emptiness eat away at him, that it wasn't a matter of wanting to get better but simply a matter of being unable to. By the time the scheduled surgery rolled around, Connor couldn't find it in him to care anymore. He knew it scared Hank. He couldn't snap out of it.

The surgery went well. The recovery time was incredibly difficult to find motivation for as Connor's mobility was greatly reduced, the exercises repetitive and tiring despite being as small as they were. He dreamt of sliding across the ice with cold wind brushing up against his face. He had nightmares, too, of the accident happening over and over again. Hank continuted to force him to eat in the morning, at noon, in the evening. The psychiatrist put him on antidepressants and Connor really hadn't missed the effects of the beginning of such a treatment. He wallowed in aching darkness, suffered through the lack of will to live. 

Nines didn't call.

After several weeks, Connor was allowed to put his whole weight on his leg. Hank forced him to come outside with him for grocery shopping and Connor reluctantly went. He wished he could just get rid of the crutches already. Sometimes his usual urges resurfaced from the depths of his fatigue and he'd itch to skate, but then his knee would twinge and he'd break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. The fear that nothing would get back to normal was still there and Connor wasn't doing a good job of coping with that horrible, gut-heavy anxiety. 

He knew he couldn't stay cut off from the rest of the world forever so he gradually resumed watching the news on television and following social media to see in which way the world had been spinning while he'd been foggy and morose. He avoided looking up his brother. 

After twice that amount of time, Connor still had to keep the knee brace but could walk without crutches. He started going to the gym with Hank to work out on the bike, weights, strengthening exercises. There was a point at the start where he was paranoid that his knee would give out on him but nothing of the sort happened, and this fear eventually abated. He remained desperate and terrified to skate. He continued having nightmares. 

Nines didn't call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 28/11/2020 -
> 
> Hey pumpkin!  
> This has been a thing for quite some time, here's the [idea](https://lost-tanuki-tales.tumblr.com/post/187927889724/lost-tanuki-tales-okay-so-i-just-had-the-most) I'm working off of!  
> If you could help me, do you know how long Nines would have between winning this championship and participating in another? Assuming this other championship would be pretty big, like top-of-nationals-and-soon-international big.
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you feel like it!


	2. Deceiver

The victory weighed on Nines and left a taste of ash in his mouth. He didn't even remember the ceremony all that well, only that he'd been scared for Connor the whole time and repeatedly telling himself that no, it couldn't be that bad, this wasn't the kind of thing that could happen to them, Connor would be fine, he had to be. Hank had stayed with Nines to congratulate him and then he'd hugged him, warm and big and strong. Nines had cried on his thick shoulder from too many emotions and not all of them good. Then they'd been swept up in the closing and the celebrations and Hank had said he needed to go see Connor at the hospital. He'd asked Nines if he wanted to come. Nines had felt a huge and heavy shame unlike any he'd ever felt before. It had swamped him, held him back, forced him to stay behind. He couldn't face Connor, not when Nines had stolen everything from him.

Nines did go to the hospital the day after, riddled with guilt and fatigue from a sleepless night which he'd spent staring at his medal feeling that it didn't belong to him. He'd wanted to go and apologize. Nines had found Connor asleep, pale and bruised in his hospital bed. He'd stood there not knowing what to do. Hesitantly, he'd stepped forward and gently lifted the sheets to look at his brother's knee. His throat had gone completely dry when he'd seen the state of it, scrubbed raw and swollen and mottled in unnatural shades of color. For a long time he'd stayed blankly immobile. Then Connor had started shifting and softly groaning, and Nines had looked up to see his brother's pallid face twisted in pain. Nines had rushed to get a nurse but he hadn't had the courage to return in the room with her.

That day, Nines learned from the doctor in charge of Connor that the accident had caused a torn ligament in the knee. They all knew what that meant. This was the kind of injury athletes took months to recover from and it was the kind of injury that never completely healed back to normal. It could mean the end for Connor. 

Nines had fled the hospital and hadn't returned. His presence, what he represented to Connor, the vivid reminder of that lost opportunity, it would only hurt Connor more. The longer Nines spent away from his brother, the deeper he drowned in guilt. Nines had always wanted to win, and win, and ascend; but not like this. His victory was hollow and tainted with Connor's suffering. 

Hank kept him informed of Connor's progress and told him that he'd be looking after him while he recovered, but that didn't mean he'd have no time to train Nines anymore. It had reassured Nines to keep this link between him and his brother. Hank was there for the both of them.

It didn't last long. Amanda didn't agree with Hank's manner of handling this development and she decided that she'd wasted enough money on a coach who didn't even have the common sense to dedicate all of his time to training a champion like Nines and who instead chose to spend most of it tending to his lame duck of a student. That was what she'd called Connor. Their mother was angry that her elder son had failed so miserably and she was frustrated that their coach had chosen such a counterproductive course of action.

"You are the better skater. You always have been," she told Nines. "You deserve the best."

"I'm not!" he protested. "We've always won the same amount of competitions, and Connor should have won this one!"

"Yet he did not," drily stated Amanda. "You are the victor, Richard. The only thing that should matter to you is the here and now, and I've taught you time and time again that there is no room for complacency. Past achievements are meaningless."

"But Connor-"

"I expect nothing exceptional to come out of his recovery. You do realize there is not a single chance for him to ever catch up to you after this?"

Nines was unable to swallow the lump in his throat. "Mom, he was better than me this time. He should've-"

"It doesn't matter what should and shouldn't have been, the fact remains that things are the way they are. I do not believe Coach Anderson is fit to teach you any longer, if his senseless choice to favor Connor is anything to go by. I've arranged for you to switch coaches with one of my contacts."

Nines' eyes widened. " _What?_ "

Amanda was unpertubed by his display of shock. "He is willing to take you on alongside his current student. His name is Elijah Kamski."

Nines knew that name and he knew it belonged to a reknown coach, but he also knew that Elijah Kamski worked on the other side of the country. He reeled with the news and it took him a moment to recover his senses. "No, Mom, Coach Anderson is-"

"Enough," Amanda cut him off, her voice velvet wrapped around steel. "The decision has already been made. You will pack your bags and leave in three days."

Nines stared at her in disbelief, and then felt a deep, hurt anger ooze from the place inside of him that had felt like an open wound for days. He stepped forward, his tall frame taught with protest, lithe strength humming in tense muscles. "I didn't agree to this. You can't make me leave this place, you can't make me leave Connor!"

She gazed up unblinkingly even as her son towered over her, commanding dark eyes staring straight into pained blue ones, and declared in her silky, decisive voice: "It's final, Richard. You will follow lessons with Elijah Kamski, compete for the next internationals, and win the gold medal."

As much as Nines wanted to rail against his mother's choice, there was nothing he could do but go along with it. His whole life depended on her. He couldn't bring himself to tell Hank the news until he reached the very day of his departure right as he was about to board the plane. Hank was not happy with the way things had turned out, and he was especially unhappy that Nines didn't want him to fight with Amanda about it or to mention him to Connor unless he was asked, but he respected his wishes, and for that Nines was grateful. Hank was the only person he could rely on to accept the boundaries both him and his brother tried to put down, but it was still always a relief when he did, so used to being ignored as they were by their mother.

Nines landed hundreds of miles away from his family and friends where he met his new coach Elijah Kamski, the genius, and his student Chloe Reiter, the prodigy. He was surprised to find that Chloe welcomed him with open arms and wasn't as viciously competitive as he'd expected her to be. She seemed happy to have him there. They had common lodgings in Elijah's mansion and the man even had had a private rink built on his propriety. There was also a dancing studio inside, wide and bright and constantly sparkling clean.

Elijah Kamski was a generally calm man but displayed an air of superiority and a constant quirk of his lips that was a tad unsettling, not to mention that his transparent blue eyes tended to stare intensely and unblinking. Most annoying of all was the fact that he seemed to fancy himself some kind of riddler when he talked. It was rare and difficult to make him get to the point in conversations outside of coaching, but when they were on the ice, his quick wit, sharp eye and easy eloquence made skating lessons a very enriching experience. Nines had to admit he felt like he was making more progress here than he'd been with Hank. However, Elijah prioritized results over efficiency like most coaches Amanda had found in the past for her two sons, and Nines missed Hank's gruff familiarity and constant inquiries about his and Connor's headspace.

Chloe Reiter was older than him by six years and already a senior athlete but she never looked down her nose at him. Her scintillating smile was frequent and genuine, contrary to her coach, and she liked seeking out Nines' company whenever she got bored or lonely. She always wore her blonde hair up in a ponytail even outside the rink and the black eyeliner that softly traced her clear blue eyes must have been waterproof because Nines had never, ever seen it smudged. Often times on the rink, when it was time for a short pause, he found himself admiring the way she folded and stretched her limber shape like there was no limit to her flexibility.

Their private dance instructor was a woman called Lucy Kaila who carried herself more elegantly than anyone Nines had ever seen in his entire life. Her voice was soft but in a milder way than his mother's, and her eyes were never angry. She moved fast and light like a leaf of black and brown swept up by the playful breeze, the thick dark dreadlocks of her hair bouncing in her back, and Nines thought that Connor would have liked her very much. Connor had always been more fleet-footed than Nines and the way he moved his body was similar to Lucy's. Nines wanted them to meet, but felt a pang of dread at the thought that maybe Connor would never dance so well again.

Nines never stopped thinking of Connor even as the weeks turned into months and he participated in tournament after tournament, building up to the championship. He felt guilty of never calling and especially when Hank told him Connor had to take up antidepressants again, but he just couldn't do it. He didn't even return Hank's calls anymore even though Hank sent him daily updates. Eventually Nines realized that some part of him was terrified to hear Connor blame him in any way for their present situation. It was difficult to think otherwise when he constantly heard gossip in the social spheres of figure skating about his brother's downfall and the role he'd had to play in it.

"One less snobby bastard to deal with."

"Did you know he refused to attend events? He really thought he was better than anyone."

"Honestly, he got what was coming to him."

"You really think he deserved it?"

"Come on, you don't? And get this, apparently he's mentally ill."

"Oh, that's sad. Poor kid can't take the heat."

"You shouldn't be in competitive sports if you're too weak to handle that kind of pressure."

"That's true. I bet the little brother's the same, I mean, after that sham of a win? I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror."

"I'm pretty sure they made up that story about a gouge in the ice. What kind of lame excuse is that?"

"Probably their mother who bought some journalists or something."

"They must've cheated their way through, no one stays at the top for so long. Guess cheating doesn't carry you that far in the end."

Several times he found himself on the verge of landing his fist in smug faces and laughing mouths. Nines didn't sleep well and it made him more impulsive, unhealthily so. The first time he'd overheard these words he'd stepped up to them alone and the rage that had overtaken him was so deep that he could only stand there, inarticulate, his fists clenched at his sides. They'd seen the dangerous look on his face and one of them had said: "Oh, you heard? Sorry."

The other said: "Don't look at us like that. Are you really going to tell us it's not true?"

Nines finally managed to string a coherent sentence together and ground out: "My brother _didn't_ deserve his injury. Take that back."

A pitying look on the right, a shrug on the left. "What does it matter to you? You won."

Nines' anger grew and he struggled to tamp it down. He was so close to pulling his arm back and landing a punch despite knowing that it would be the worst thing he could possibly do, it was very fortunate that Chloe found him at that moment. 

"Richard!" she called at her back, and as they all turned to her the woman's expression lightly twisted into a frown. "What's going on?"

"Just having a talk about victories," lightly said Asshole. "Right?"

Nines glared at him.

"Okay," slowly said Chloe, visibly not convinced.

"We were going to leave," said his companion, and he pulled Asshole along. "Have a nice evening."

Nines watched them leave with shoulders that ached with tension and he violently jerked away when he felt a touch on his hand.

"Sorry," quickly said Chloe. "Are you okay?"

"No," growled Nines, and he started walking away. She ran after him.

"Wait, wait, Richard! What did they do?"

"It doesn't concern you."

" _Richard._ " Her fingers wrapped around his wider wrist and pulled him to a stop. Nines looked down at her and she insisted: "What's wrong?"

He knew they'd been right. The other competitors wouldn't have won against Connor themselves but no one was blind to the fact that Nines had gotten first place simply because the real winner hadn't managed to finish his routine. Yes, Nines had the talent. But he hadn't had the talent to win the gold medal and he couldn't help but feel like an imposter when he walked around in Elijah's mansion, when he participated in these events, when he skated to train for the new routine.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," said Chloe with a nod, and she glanced down to his still clenched fist in her hand. "You have to relax, though."

Nines' chin jerked in a stiff half-nod and he let his fingers uncurl, revealing red indents in his palms. Chloe frowned and her blue gaze flickered up to his face again, and then she cautiously touched her fingertips to the small crescents as if to check for blood. Nothing came away but she kept frowning.

"Well." She let go of him and leveled a decisive stare at him. "Let's stick together in places like this, all right? You shouldn't let people get under your skin like that, and I know it's not easy after what happened to you and your brother so I'll be there to make sure nothing bad happens. Deal?"

"Fine," grunted Nines.

True to her word, there wasn't one single even after that where they weren't at least a few feet within each other's radius. Nines still overheard discussions like this from time to time but he tried not to intervene, and when he did, Chloe was quickly by his side to avoid an incident. They both knew it was futile to try and disarm these topics of conversation. Gossip was unstoppable in figure skating. 

Hank kept sending updates on Connor's state and Nines almost called. Almost. But he never did. Connor was damaged enough as he was, he didn't need Nines to call and rub salt in his wound.

Nines spent his days repeating and repeating and repeating the exercises Elijah asked him to do, practicing and practicing and practicing the parts of his routine beyond perfection, all the way down to the point of exhaustion. Elijah liked that he was so efficient, he appreciated less that Nines was pushing himself more than necessary. His schedule of champion in training was heavy and he preferred it that way. Elijah told him he needed to get better rest and Lucy insisted that he needed to take more time for himself, but Nines kept going. He needed to be worthy of his fake victory and he needed to take his mind off of his brother's future. Every night he went to bed with burning muscles and a guilty mind, but if he was tired enough, then it didn't matter as much. 

"Hey, Rich?"

Nines looked up from his laces and saw Chloe brake in front of him, on the other side of the wall that surrounded the skating rink. He asked: "Yes?"

She stood there, pensive, and leaned against the railing. It usually meant she wanted to discuss something important when she didn't smile, like now. "Do you enjoy skating?"

"Of course," answered Nines without hesitation.

"Hm."

Nines straightened on the bench. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You're like a different person."

"What?"

Chloe continued staring at him. She was a little like Elijah in that regard, neither of them minded staring into another person's eyes for longer than was normally considered comfortable. At least she blinked more.

"You know, I looked you up when Elijah told me you were coming. I'd heard your name before but I didn't actually know a whole lot about you and Connor besides the gossip. And now the longer I skate with you, the more I realize that I might be right."

"Right about what?" questioned Nines with a perplexed furrow of his brow.

"You're not the same. Did you know, whenever you got recorded skating, you actually look happy? But you don't anymore." 

Nines gazed at her. He didn't know what to say. Chloe continued. 

"I don't blame you for not noticing that. You've been working yourself really hard because of what happened, huh? Skating's not a pleasure anymore."

"It is," argued Nines.

"But not like before," she argued back.

Nines fell silent. Chloe pushed herself away from the wall and glided closer to the entrance, and she stepped off the ice to join him next to the bench, where she stayed standing next to him.

"Have you talked about how you feel to anyone? I know Elijah wouldn't really listen, but he'd send you to someone if he saw that you weren't in the right headspace. Lucy's nice, she'd hear you out all evening if you needed it. I'm here too, but you never tell me what's going on in that head of yours. And from what I've gathered, your mom's not super tender."

Nines frowned at her. "I don't need to talk."

"Don't you? Then did all that joy evaporate without reason?" she questioned. "Where did Richard Stern's beautiful smile disappear to? And I'm not talking about the one you need to put on for show. I mean the one you have when you're skating for hell of it."

His gaze fell to his lap. She was right, he hadn't noticed. He'd been too focused on being good, and being better, and pushing himself in that direction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chloe sit down with him.

"You can tell me, Rich. I'll listen. I can tell these past months have been shit for you," she gently told him.

"Not as much as they've been for Connor."

Chloe didn't take the bait the way he'd wanted her to. "You haven't left this place in forever. Shouldn't you have gone to see him some time?"

Nines pressed his lips together. After several seconds of silence, he admitted: "I can't face him. Not until I've won something worthwhile for myself so I can show him it wasn't a waste."

Chloe's voice sharpened. "Has he told you that's what it was? A waste?"

"No," quickly said Nines. "No, he didn't. But I haven't called him to know what he'd say."

A pause. Softly, she asked: "You haven't called him since the accident?"

"No."

"Richard..."

"I'm not going to," he cut her off. "I just can't face him like this. He's really hurt and I don't want to come back crashing in his life, living the one that was supposed to be his, with nothing to show for it."

And Nines was determined to show everyone wrong. He wanted to show them that he was better than a default gold medalist. If he managed to win the next one on his own means then they'd all finally shut up about it, and Connor would know that Nines was making the best of the opportunity he'd had to involuntarily sacrifice. Amanda would be proud, maybe Connor would be as well.

Until then, he needed to work for it.

Chloe gazed at him thoughtfully. "Okay. But you have to sleep, Rich. You're not going anywhere if you drop halfway."

"I know," flatly said Nines.

Chloe leaned forward and ruffled his hair without warning, and he jolted back in surprise then frowned at her. She teased: "Young'uns don't know a decent sleep schedule when they see one."

He frowned at her, disgruntled, and then fixed his hair as best as he could. "I'm not that young, and you're not that old."

"Why thank you," sweetly said Chloe.

Nines grumbled to himself, annoyed, as he fixed his hair under her blue gaze.

"How about I make sure you keep one?" she suddenly spoke up again.

"What?"

"A sleep schedule."

Nines shot her a look to see if she was being serious. 

Chloe earnestly added: "I don't want to see you crash and burn the way I've seen other friends do before. You're promising, Richard. It would be a huge shame if you let that happen to you."

Nines looked away and muttered: "I won't."

"Right. I'll still come by and check on you tonight," declared Chloe, and she pushed herself off the bench to walk back to the ice.

"Chloe," he called her without thinking.

She turned around, her golden ponytail swishing with the movement. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "...You can call me Nines. That's what my friends call me."

Chloe grinned brightly at him. "Nines it is, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 22/01/2021 - 
> 
> Hey pumpkin!  
> You know, originally the idea I had all that time ago was supposed to have some reed900... But Nines and Chloe have chemistry. Look at them. _Look_ at them. How am I supposed to ignore that?  
> Maybe I could have Gavin and Chloe both simping for Nines. Hm.  
> Thanks for reading, share your thoughts in the comments!


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